Aftermath
by V.Alchemista
Summary: In the wake of the Battle of Five Armies, Bilbo's just doing his best to keep everyone in the Company alive, and to hold off another war. Terrible at summaries, sincerest apologies. Rated to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Sorry again for my terrible summaries. So, here's a new fic (multi-chapter this time-lookie there, I'm steppin' up my game), but I don't expect this one to be too terribly long. But who knows, it might develop into a biggie. Can't promise regular updates, though I'll try to be good about them, but right now I got 18hrs at school including 2 studio classes which means a lot of extra work for me-hurray! But not really... So, thought I'd give fair warning if I go three weeks without updating or something...

Anywho, hope y'all enjoy and as always I own none of the characters!

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He stretched, the hobbit groaning when something popped in his back before he settled once more, eyes not moving away from the form laying in front of him. It was but a day or so after the battle (Biblo wasn't exactly sure—he was having some difficulty keeping track of the time). What he did know though was that it was late into the night; he could feel the press of sleep against his lids, but he resolutely shooed the feeling away, unwilling to leave the dwarf just yet. He tracked his eyes over the linen bound torso, some areas stained with blood and whatever ointments Óin had thought it necessary to apply. While not a great sight, it definitely was an improvement over the last time Bilbo had seen the dwarf—all of his parts were securely where they were meant to be this time and not spilling out everywhere on the battlefield. Bilbo shuddered at the memory, ripping his eyes away from the chest to stare at the blood and dirt covered face.

He nearly tutted at the sight, and of the matted hair full of the grime of battle. But he supposed he couldn't blame the others for not cleaning him up—they _had_ been rather busy with just piecing him back together to worry about a bit of dirt. But all the same. He sighed as he stood up, walking over to the side of the tent where some water and rags had been left. Carefully, he brought a bowl of water over, dipping one of the rags in before gently running it across the far too pale face, doing his best to remove at least some of the muck.

"Oh Thorin."

He wasn't stupid. He knew what the possibilities of this hare-brained scheme had been, knew what fate could've awaited him, all of them. But for some reason, he had never included Thorin into any of those gruesome ends. It just had not seemed like a possibility. He couldn't say why, but the dwarf had seemed untouchable to him. Which, really, he should've known better after what happened during their first run-in with Azog. But no matter how much he had fretted and worried over the end to this journey (if he even got to see it's end), Thorin, by the end of it, was always sitting on his newly reclaimed throne. He certainly wasn't hanging on by a thread in some hurriedly put-together tent that looked as if the wind blew too hard it would certainly topple over. Then again, Bilbo had never thought the dwarf would try and kill him.

Bilbo cringed at the thought, hand stilling as he rung out the rag. He couldn't imagine what state Thorin would be in if he knew Bilbo was here right now. Certainly, he hopped what had happened with the Arkenstone was just the gold-sickness, but the lead weight in his stomach kept telling him otherwise.

He shook his head at the train of thought, not willing to let it continue any further as he passed the damp cloth one more time over the now much cleaner that he stood again, returning the items to the side where he had fetched them earlier before he returned to the dwarf's side. He had not been sitting there long when Balin walked in.

Bilbo gave a little start as he heard the curtain flap, receiving a gentle smile from the older dwarf as his eyes landed on him. He breathed out slowly, willing his heart to slow down as Balin approached.

"You should rest laddie. We can call you if anything changes with him," he said softly, placing a hand on the tired hobbit's shoulder as he did so.

"I'm fine," was all Bilbo managed to get out, and he knew how unconvincing it sounded.

Balin turned to look at him, his eyes that had been studying his kings face now turned to him and Bilbo tried not to fidget under the look. "Now Master Baggins, you yourself have sustained injuries," he started, glaring sharply at Bilbo's snort, "and you've spent all day and night amongst the cold and the dead—you'd be good to rest."

There was a moment of silence before Bilbo spoke, words soft and nearly hesitant, body tight with tension. "Are you telling me to leave Master Balin?" and while over the course of the journey it had become Balin, and while he didn't seem too upset about the whole Arkenstone debacle, Bilbo all the same was unsure of his standing with the older dwarf.

Balin's eyes softened at the question. "Of course not laddie."

The tightness bleed out of Bilbo in an instant. "Good," he murmured a few second later. "All I would've done anyways was gone to Fíli and Kíli's tent."

There was a soft huff of laughter from behind him at the comment and then another pat on his shoulder. "Think about rest, laddie. You had us all rather worried."

Bilbo nodded, more for Balin's sake than his own willingness to acquiesce to the request. He was rather stiff though, and he supposed he could owe that to the uncomfortable arrangement he had found himself in when he had woken up a couple hours ago. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened, only that one moment he was stabbing an orc in the stomach and the next he was waking up to a litter of corpses around him and a pounding headache. After the initial nausea had worn off, he had finally gotten up and made his way to the nearest tent he could see (which had taken far more effort than he cared to admit). He had been terribly confused at first when no one had responded to him, nearly running over him a few times, that was until he remembered that the ring was still securely around his finger. After having enough sense to take the trinket off, he had been quickly pointed into the direction of the dwarf camp. He hadn't made it that much farther when in the distance he saw Bofur running his way. The dwarf had rightly knocked the wind out of him with the crushing hug he decided to bestow on the hobbit, not minding the grateful tears streaming down his face. _"We thought you dead," _was all he heard as way of explanation before he was lead to the rest of the company.

There, much to his relief, he had been met with smiles, and cheers of reliefs, and more rather forceful hugs and not the utter hatred he had half expected to be met with. After a quick look from Óin with the diagnosis of a mild concussion he was steered to Fíli and Kíli's tent (the sight of which had not been pretty), before finally being taken to see Thorin where he has not left since arriving.

"How are the boys?" he asked after another long stretch of silence between them.

The answer was a heavy sigh that Bilbo was certain the older dwarf had not meant to utter. "No worse, no better."

"That's not saying much. They've not got much worse to get," Bilbo said blandly, thinking back to their waxen, sweat covered bodies.

"There's always worse to get. And either way, they're still better off than Thorin."

"That's not saying much either," he pointed out.

There was more silence between them and Bilbo nearly cursed himself for his thoughtfulness, had he have had the energy to do so. The silence went on for some time before there was another pat to his shoulder and Balin was leaving the tent. Bilbo watched Balin leave, slightly reluctantly, and nearly apologized to the dwarf before he decided against it and he was watching the flap of the tent flutter with the other's exit.

He looked at that spot for a moment more before turning back to Thorin, his eyes scanning the other's form—for what he wasn't exactly sure, but he felt better for doing it. He shuffled again, stretching out his tired muscles (hearing another round of satisfying pops) before he settled himself in for a very long night.

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Well, there's chapter one for everybody! I hope peeps enjoyed it, and of course comments, critiques, etc. are always welcome and appreciated. Hope to get the next one out here quick!


	2. Chapter 2

Well, here's chapter two finally. Sorry it's not terribly long, especially as it took nearly a month to write, but chapters three and four are already partially written, so it shouldn't take that long for me to finish those two (that and spring break is finally here, so I actually have some time to write to this story).

Anyways, hope everyone enjoys the newest chapter.

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He sighed as he ran the cloth over Fíli's head again, his stomach twisting further at the heat he could feel through the damp cloth. It had been three days since Bilbo had woken up and so far, neither of the three injured dwarves had improved. Bilbo supposed he should be grateful they weren't getting worse (though he swore Thorin had felt hotter than usual today), but it was a hard thing to be grateful for when they all looked so positively dreadful. He knew these weren't injuries that they would all wake up from completely fine after a day of rest (Bilbo wasn't that naive), but he had thought there would be some signs of improvement by now. He sighed again as he repeated the motion with Kíli, glad to note that his fever was cooler than his brother's (though not by much).

He had long ago stopped asking the healers for updates about them, or "pester" (their words, not his) them about their condition after a severe glare from one of the older dwarves whose name he hadn't bothered remembering. Bilbo wasn't used to this though, this waiting after others. Nothing ever this severe happened in the Shire, and even his own parents' deaths had been quick and startling. At the time he had been upset about that, about his inability to be with them in those last moments (if not also the unusual early age that they had been taken from him). This though, this waiting by their bedsides day in and day out, waiting for something, some sign that they were getting better… Bilbo didn't think he quite had the strength to deal with this much longer. It was a selfish thought he knew, for the three dwarves were dealing with far worse, but he honestly couldn't help it. Oín kept reassuring him every chance he got (as well as the rest of the Company), telling Bilbo that it was normal for those with injuries this severe to be out for a while, but this was hardly normal for Bilbo.

And it wasn't that normal for dwarves either. Bilbo knew that although they were experienced in war (and everything that came with it), they weren't used to the type of poison that was coursing through his friends at this very moment. He knew it was worrying the healers and they were struggling to figure out how best to treat them, saw it in their pinched brows and dark expression whenever they checked in on the three. He had refrained from saying so though, not wanting to push his limits any further with any of them (he was still surprised he hadn't been booted from the dwarf camp altogether or arrested or something yet, not with his stunt with the Arkenstone). He probably had the rest of the Company to thank for his being relatively left alone; apparently Dwalin was still quite an imposing figure even among dwarves. That didn't stop them from kicking him out of Thorin's tent earlier though (apparently he was distracting to the healers changing Thorin's bandages). He wasn't that bothered by it—whenever he got kicked out of one tent he just went right to the other one (just as he had told Balin he would do). The others hadn't tried to stop him yet, beyond dragging him away to get food every now and then; they had long ago stopped trying to get him to sleep away from either Fíli, Kíli, or Thorin though, just leaving him to sleep at whomevers bedside he had finally passed out at (usually it was Thorin's).

He absentmindedly brushed some wayward strands out of Kíli's face, taking the cloth across the lad's face one more time before rinsing it it the bowl of water next to him. As he squeezed the cloth he looked back to Fíli's face, worrying his lip as he noted the deep, perpetual crease between his brow. He tried to tell himself that Fíli looked exactly the same, and their breathing hadn't gotten anymore laboured since he had last been with him, and Kíli certainly didn't look any paler. Honestly he did, but as he ran the cloth over Fíli's face again, he couldn't help thinking he hadn't been quite so hot yesterday.

* * *

"How are the lads?"

Bilbo looked up from his bland soup to Bofur's smiling face, wondering how it was that he always managed to be so cheerful. Though, Bilbo supposed that wasn't quite so true, if the strain around his lips was anything to go by, and Bilbo idly wondered how much of the front was for him alone. He hesitated in answering the other before a reluctant, "About the same, I suppose," left his lips and with it another spoonful of soup.

"Ah, you didn't sound quite convinced on that," Bofur said as he plopped down in between Bilbo and Bifur (it had been his job this go around to force Bilbo to eat), a new bowl in his own hands now.

"They're no better, no worse," Bilbo repeated, staring resolutely at the bland mixture (he knew Bombur and the others were doing his best, but they had eaten better starving in the forest of Mirkwood—though he supposed when you're starving, anything tastes good). He honestly didn't mind that much, but he did wish there was something more to concentrate on as he ate than his own whirling thoughts (he was left alone with them quite often enough thank you).

Bofur just raised his brow at that. "You'll excuse me if I don't quite believe you," he said as he swallowed a spoonful, his face scrunching up in response right afterwards.

Bilbo struggled to form a response that didn't make him sound crazy when movement to his left caught his attention. Bilbo looked over as Bifur began making signs with his hands, letting out a stream of Khuzdul as he did so, watching Bofur's face enviously as he absorbed the words (blasted dwarves and their secret language).

"Ah, you don't quite believe the healers then," Bofur said as he settled back from where he had been leaning forward to look at Bifur.

"It's not as if I don't believe in their skills or that they're not doing their best," Bilbo was quick to say, to clear up any confusion that might arise. Bofur just quirked his lips at his quick stutterings. "I just don't quite believe they're telling me the whole truth is all," he finished with another spoonful of soup before he went on a tirade about secretive dwarf healers.

Bofur just chuckled, choosing to down his dinner in as few gulps as possible rather than drag out the tasteless experience. "And why would the healers lie to you?" Bilbo just gave him a significant look before turning forward again. "Come now, Bilbo, Oín wouldn't lie about them, not about something like this."

Bilbo's shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh. "I know," he said quietly, placing his bowl down on the floor before rubbing his hands down his face in an effort to wipe away some of the strain and tiredness. He could feel the weight of Bofur's and Bifur's gazes on him (and the weight of a hand from the latter) as he sighed one more time. "I know it's probably all in my head—it's exactly why I haven't said anything. I know."

There was another pat from Bifur's hand before he pulled back and a slight knocking of shoulders from Bofur (enough contact and pressure to let Bilbo know he was there). "If you need to talk Bilbo, you know I'm here—we all are," came Bofur's quiet voice the next second.

Bilbo smiled at the offer, even though he knew it was a strained one. "I know that my friend; I know," came his equally quiet response. He knew his friends would be there to hear him out, but he just couldn't do that to them. They all had enough to deal with without him heaping on his concerns. It was like he told Bofur, it was probably all in his head anyways. And he'd be more inclined to believe that, if it were not for the twisting in his gut that made him shaky and nauseous, and the fearful, warning tugging in his heart. But for all that he would feel better talking to someone about this, the feeling wouldn't last long, he knew. His concerns might finally be assuaged by whatever soothing words that were sure to follow his frantic outpouring of concerns, but he honestly doubted that. The only thing he would accomplish was a temporary lift of weight from his shoulders and dropping of his friends'. Whatever concerns he might temporarily shrug off would only land with his friends, and he could not do that to them, not now. So, although Bofur's offer was appreciated (far more than he thinks the dwarf realizes), he could never take him up on it, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

The other day he had briefly entertained the idea of finding Gandalf and talking with him of his concerns. The idea was quickly thrown away when he had caught sight of the wizard trudging through the dwarf camp. Once he had caught site of the slumped posture and haggard features (all cloaked in the same bloody clothes leftover from the battle), he had quickly disregarded the idea, and had only offered a weak smile and a nod when the wizard had noticed him. He had heard from the others of Gandalf's tireless shift between the different camps, offering his skills wherever they were needed as long as he could spare them. He had only been by once to see the three suffering dwarves from the Company, staying long enough the first day they had been dragged from the battlefield to stabilize them and hadn't been by since. Not that Bilbo could honestly blame the wizard. If anything, the prolonged time Gandalf spent away from the three worried Bilbo, for he knew if Gandalf could he would be with them. For him not to visit once meant worrying things and Bilbo felt concern for his friend, and hoped dearly he wasn't pushing himself too far. But he knew from the deep lines he saw on his friend's face that day that it was a baseless hope.

He sat with Bifur and Bofur a little while longer, relaxing, if only a little, between the solid warmth of the two, until need to check and look upon his ailing friends once more grew too great. Then, he bid them goodbye, settling himself besides Thorin's bed not too long after, beginning his long routine of wiping away as much of the day's dirt and grime as he could from him, cooling him as much as he could with the damp cloths (all the while telling himself Thorin didn't feel hotter than he had earlier today).

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Well, there it was. Hope it was worth the wait and as always reviews/comments/etc. are appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, I had less of this written than I previously thought (and even less for chapter 4). Finals are on their merry way to being here, so I'm not sure if I'll find time to write chapter 4 before the end of this month, but I will endeavor to do so. Thanks to all those reading and keeping up with this little story of mine and I hope you enjoy. **

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Bilbo gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to stave of the impending headache. It was a useless effort though, and before long his head was throbbing with a slow painful pounding that started at the back of his skull until it beat away to behind his eyes. He breathed out, attempting to keep it slow and steady, taking in (what was supposed to be) a calming breath afterwards. It was interrupted as a fist slammed into the table in front of him, Khuzdul curses pouring out the next instant (he knew enough from being in the company of thirteen, rowdy dwarves the sound of a few dwarven curses). The stream of cool, elven insults that he _could_ perfectly understand that were muttered in response didn't help calm him either, and he wondered how it was they all found it perfectly reasonable to behave in such a manner.

He finally lost it when another fist slammed into the table, startling the hobbit out of his thoughts. "Enough!" Bilbo cried, springing to his feet in the rush of his annoyance. "This is quite enough from the lot of you!" he continued when all eyes were firmly on him. "This is absolutely ridiculous! You lot are _kings_ and _rulers_ for Eru's sake and yet here you are bickering like little faultings! I have half a mind to twist your ears for your behavior as we do to children in the Shire that misbehave!" he ranted, wagging his finger disapprovingly at two particular people sitting before him.

He didn't fully understand why Balin had dragged him into this meeting, if only to be a voice of reason in a sea of tempers, but he didn't particularly appreciate the inclusion. Especially when Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli were still struggling in their tents. And as the days went on, the more worried for them Bilbo became. He absolutely knew now that the healer dwarves were keeping something from him (knew now that the flush in their faces and the extra heat that seemed to radiate off of them was not in his head), and he wondered if it was from him alone they were keeping the information from or if the rest of the company was as left out as he was. He had a feeling some of them knew, or at least suspected (if the increasingly worried looks they gave the still bodies were any indication), but, honestly, what good did it serve anyone to keep lying to him? He felt as useless as it was, now he felt absolutely pathetic that they did not even trust him with that sort of information (didn't trust him to be able to handle it, though he was sure some dwarves just plain didn't trust him). But didn't they realize how much he was fretting over them already—mostly due to the fact that he couldn't get straight answers out of anyone!

Bilbo took another deep breath before he completely lost focus, trying to reign himself back onto the topic at hand—there were already enough boiling tempers present that it wouldn't do for him to add his current frustrations with the dwarves. He took another breath as he surveyed the assembled group. He sat at the end of a simple, wooden table in between Balin and Dwalin. Across from him, slumped in his chair (and who looked just as pleased to be here as Bilbo did) was Bard, and to Bilbo's left and right Thranduil and Daín Ironfoot respectively. They were all here to discuss their current situation, for even though they had won against the orcs, there was another battle on their heels, one they had less of a chance of winning against: winter.

Already the temperature was beginning to drop, the nights turning more and more unbearable. And dangerous. They were at a precarious time now, and their survival was beginning to depend more and more on each other as the days passed. But that was soon going to be more difficult with the worsening weather—that and the ever shortening food supply. The only ones not in complete fear of starvation were the Elves, who at anytime could return to their own kingdom which had more than enough food to last them through the cold months. The dwarves too fared better than the men, for they at least had a mountain to run to when the snow began to fall, ruined though it was. The men though, they had neither food nor shelter, for Smaug had left nothing in his wake save for ash.

That's what they had convened to discuss, how to proceed with the threat of winter on their heels. Only, they had gotten as far as the 'hellos' (if that's what one wanted to call them) until the arguing began. Bard had tried to get the two to calm down and actually talk in the beginning, but he had given up quickly enough. And now they found themselves here, with Bilbo scolding grown adults as if they were nothing more than children.

Bilbo turned his attention to Daín when he heard a strangled noise leave the dwarf. In any other situation, Bilbo supposed he would be more nervous at the rage he found in the red faced dwarf, but at this point he was far too annoyed with them to care much.

"And who are you, halfling, to speak to me in such a way? Why is a _thief_ such as yourself even here at this meeting?"

Bilbo could feel the immediate tensing of Balin and Dwalin next to him, saw Bard straighten in his seat as he threw a heated look at Daín. Bilbo felt the urge to lay a hand on his friends' shoulders in an effort to calm them, but decided against the movement. Instead, he looked back at Daín with all the anger and frustration he could muster, feeling a slight bit of satisfaction as Daín moved back at the look (even if it was only slightly so).

"I am here, Master Ironfoot, because I am the only one that can tolerate you lot. I am here, Master Ironfoot, because you and King Thranduil cannot be trusted to not act like children and carry on an actual conversation. I am here, Master Ironfoot, because winter is coming and we cannot afford to waste time bickering when threat of starvation and freezing hangs over so many people. I am here, Master Ironfoot to tell you to _sit down_ and behave and act as your title bids you," he said, words and tone sharp and cutting in the face of this ridiculousness. "Those were not just words, Master Dwarf. _Sit. Down_," he repeated when Daín remained standing. He felt Balin and Dwalin settle back as Daín plopped obediently into his seat, and Bilbo nearly chastised Dwalin for the smug smirk he knew the dwarf would be currently adorning. Almost. "And do not think I do not know what those hand gestures mean," he barked when he noticed the movement from the dwarf. "I have been in the company of dwarves long enough to guess their meaning. And you, King Thranduil," he said, turning to the elven king when he noted the quirk in the other's lips, "_do not think I do not understand the insults you so freely throw around_," he said, switching to elvish to prove his point, not displeased in the least by the flash of surprise that swam over the other's features as the words left his mouth. "Now the both of you with cease this foolishness immediately and do what you came here to do or Eru help me!" he finished, giving the two one last stern glare before sitting back down in his seat in a huff (trying his best to ignore the approving smirk and nodd from Bard).

"How dare—"

"Be careful of what you say next Daín," Dwalin rumbled threateningly next to him.

When Daín threw his outraged look his way, his mouth open in rebuttal, Balin spoke up. "Whatever your thoughts about Master Baggins, his sound judgement has saved our Company countless times and is the only reason we are here today. You would be good to listen to him," and then, when Daín looked unconvinced, he let out a stream of Khuzdul that left Bilbo scrunching his brow up in confusion at the incomprehensible words. His confusion and frustration rose as a look of disbelief dawned on the dwarf's face, his eyes darting over to Bilbo as he studied him before being pulled back to Balin as the older dwarf continued to talk. When he was done, Dain settled back in his seat, if only by a fraction, looking slightly more mollified than he had a moment ago.

Bilbo studied him a moment longer, before looking at the elf king, finally letting out a sigh when he judged their tempers to be level enough to continue (though whether that would hold was another matter altogether). When the silence continued between them, Bilbo couldn't help but raise a brow and interject once more. "Well? Get on with it then!"

* * *

He breathed through his nose, again trying to soothe the headache that had been reigning for hours now. Bilbo didn't know why he bothered, it was a useless gesture at this point, but for some reason continued the action nonetheless. They had gotten absolutely no where. While he hadn't needed to break up anymore fights, it didn't mean the three had seen fit to actually get something accomplished. Two really (for Bard had been trying as much as he could stand to, before once again giving up about half-way through). Dain hadn't so much as yelled again afterwards, but that didn't mean he still didn't fight against the elven king—and Thranduil gave as good as he got. Though no outward insults were flung, subtle enough ones were so constantly slipped in that it made it impossible to get anything done. Both of them refused to budge, to show any sort kindness or camaraderie to the other, instead falling back on old grudges and tensions every chance they got. It had been exhausting to say the least.

Bilbo watched the slumped, tense shoulders of Bard as he left the tent for a second before something made him jump up and follow the surly man. It took a moment for the other to notice him trailing after him, but when he did, Bard adjusted his gait, slowing enough for the tired hobbit to catch up with him. "And what do I owe the honour, Master Baggins?" and Bilbo couldn't tell if there was sarcasm in that question or not. He raised a brow at the slightly bitter tone. Bard caught the look, his shoulder slumping a bit further as he mumbled an apology under his breath.

Bilbo merely nodded his head, he understood well enough the frustration the other must be feeling (enough for him to run after the other instead of running straight back to the three injured dwarves). "Bilbo is fine," he said absently, noting the slight twitch of the other's mouth as he studied the man.

"Bilbo then," he corrected, giving the other an unreadable look (though Bilbo guessed it was pleasant enough). He looked for a moment like he wanted to press something with Bilbo, but in the end decided against it as he faced forward again.

"Are you alright, Bard?" Bilbo finally asked.

A snort in reply. "My wounds were shallow enough—I am fine," he said gruffly, body going rigid as he picked up his pace by the barest amounts (though Bilbo wondered whether this was on purpose or an instinct of Bard's to shy away from the impending conversation).

"You know that is not what I meant," Bilbo replied sharply.

At once the the words made him slump and slow until they stood still at the edges of the camps (Bilbo unsure of where Bard had been heading other than away). "I am fine."

Bilbo gave him an unconvinced look, earning a smile that was a mix of appreciative and annoyed from Bard (a talented mix Bilbo thought). "I am…" and here he paused, eyes roaming over the bleak landscape before him, seeming to really consider his response this time before speaking. "I am managing," he answered with a slow carefulness.

Bilbo's lips twitched at the answer, and he did his best to keep the smile off his face (even though it would've been far from a happy one—all the same it didn't seem appropriate). "If it is any consolation, you seem to be managing fine," Bilbo said softly, and (he hoped) in a slightly encouraging manner.

Another twitch of the lips before his gaze became hardened again. "Winter is coming, Bilbo, and it will come hardest for my men and my people most of all. I'm not sure how I am to manage that."

Bilbo sighed softly, frustration with Dain and Thranduil surfacing all the stronger as he heard the thread of bone-deep weariness so apparent in the man's voice. It seemed Bard was mirroring his thoughts well enough as he let out a growl of frustration. "What do they think all of this is? Victory will mean nothing if we all die!" he all but yelled, kicking an unfortunate rock that lay near his feet. "I suppose they are content enough in their chances to give any thought to those who fought beside them," he continued, voice leveling with barely concealed desperation and bitterness and anger.

Bilbo ached for Bard and all his troubles, ached for the weight all of it put on him. "I will not even begin to try and understand the grudge that lies between dwarves and elves," he said tiredly, for he had dealt enough with the hate and bitterness that lied between those two races.

Before Bilbo could say anything else, Bard exploded again, Bilbo's comment only seeming to wind the man up further than he already had been. "So what? I am supposed to let it be and let my people die? There is nowhere for us to go, no lands we can reach safely before the coming of winter. And we cannot hope to rebuild enough to protect us all—and even if we could we have no food to keep us alive afterwards. I am I to sit idly by and let the grudges of dwarves and elves spell the end of my people?" he barked, turning accusing eyes to Bilbo.

"I was suggesting no such thing, Bard," he said calmly, body relaxing when Bard shifted back at the answer, his previous furious gaze leveling until it appeared just the barest amount sheepish. "Just that you will only drive yourself madder by trying to figure out their ways. Believe me," he said, attempting a smile. Either he succeeded or rather Bard just appreciated the gesture as his eyes softened in gratitude, body slumping as he turned his eyes to the ground, seeming reluctant to speak further now.

"What am I to do then?"

"You still have the Arkenstone."

At the mention of the stone, Bard's head shot up, a slightly incredulous look in his eyes. "Even after all of this, you would still have me use it?" he asked.

Bilbo gave him a perplexed look. "Why ever would I not?"

Bard shifted, scratching the back of his neck as he switched his weight from foot to foot slowly. "Just that you might've come to regret giving me the stone after what happened upon the rocks."

Bilbo's expression darkened and he let out an unbidden shiver at the memory of rough, calloused hands around his throat. But he could see the increasing guilt in Bard's eyes and for his sake, Bilbo planned his next words carefully. "I regret that I parted from them on such bad terms. I regret Thorin acting like that, of pushing him to such a state, that I could not think of a better way to ease the shock and the blow of me seemingly giving away the stone," and here he looked hard at Bard, for he wanted no misunderstanding here. "But I do not regret giving it to you, for trying to stop a senseless war though war found us anyways. And I do not begrudge you now for it or when you use it—in fact I encourage it. Dwarves are a stubborn lot and with Thorin's words, even during gold fever as they were, Dain is unlikely to easily go against him. And whatever friendship you had with the elves appears to be forgotten in the wake of battle and old grudges, though whether they mean to forget it I cannot say.

You have sway with the stone, Bard, for even if Dain refuses, Thranduil would not pass up such an item. With it, you'll have their attentions well enough; make them listen."

Bard stared at Bilbo for a long while, a new respect creeping into his features as he looked upon the small, unassuming creature. "Truly, Bilbo, I am in your debt, as are all the people of Laketown. You are too kind and generous and I wonder what honor I can bestow to repay all you give me freely."

Bilbo gave a huff of laughter. "I don't need anything Bard—you're thanks is enough." At Bard's disbelieving look Bilbo continued, "I'm a simple hobbit, I have no need of all the riches and honours you are more than likely thinking of. As long as I have good food and good smoke, and a fair bit of good drink I am more than content," he finished, smiling at the man.

"But surely there is something—"

Bilbo cut him off, shaking his head slightly. "You honor me enough by calling me friend."

At this Bard smiled, a true smile like Bilbo had not seen from him before, and Bilbo couldn't help but let his own spread in response. Bard chuckled as he turned forward and Bilbo could've sworn he heard the words, "simple indeed," muttered under his breath, but Bilbo paid them no mind. From the corner of his eye he saw Bard looking at him again, and Bilbo turned to him in question.

"You have asked after me, now it is my turn. How are you Bilbo? For you look much more tired than last I saw you, though it is not so unusual after everything," Bard said, giving the creature a once over.

Bilbo smiled crookedly at him. "I am managing," earning a small spark of amusement in the other man's eyes. Bilbo sighed, and it was heavy and long, pushing as much of his weary and strain into it as he could manage. "I am afraid."

Bard gave him a questioning look. "Of what?"

Here Bilbo laughed, but it was a humorless thing. "Better to ask the opposite, for I fear my answer is nearly everything. I fear more attacks. I fear the cold and the long nights and the freezing temperatures. I fear another war if the dwarves and elves cannot learn to stand each other better, but I also fear them leaving because what does that spell for everyone else? But most of all I fear death."

Bard gave him another questioning look, though didn't press further, leaving the decision of whether to share more up to Bilbo (for which he was grateful, more than Bard probably knew). He thought about it for a moment, of whether or not to say more, nearly decided against it until he felt all the anxieties and fears he had been keeping to himself bubble and rage within him until he feared he might burst. So he let it all pour out of him. "I fear for Thorin, and Fíli and Kíli. I fear their wounds are beyond the expertise of the dwarf healers. I fear sleep, for I feel like if I do I shall wake to find that they passed as I slept. I fear when I am with them, yet cannot seem to part from them for I think in the moment I take my eyes of their chests they will cease to rise. I fear the fever I know is taking them. And I fear there is nothing I can do for them, have done nothing more for them than worry," he said in a quick rush of breath, barely pausing to take a breath, it all pouring out of him, unstoppable even had he wanted to after keeping it to himself for so long. He took a long shuddering breath when he was done, sneaking a quick look at Bard after he did so.

The man's face was solemn, such an old look of grief and knowing swimming across his features that Bilbo's chest hurt. For a long moment Bard said nothing, just looked and shared as best he could with his face his understanding. Bilbo did not mind the silence in the least, greatly appreciative of the silent companionship that lay between them. "I know not what to say to make you feel better. The words 'keep strong at heart' are hollow and useless here, for this is not something persistence can cure. It is not easy when one's friends lay dying and I know all too well how terrible that is. But know this, Bilbo," and here Bilbo looked at him, and was slightly shocked to see the utter conviction on Bard's face, "you have done for them, honorably and well. You have struggled and fought with and for them and call them friend. You have done for them more than simply worry."

Bilbo stood, staring slightly wide-eyed at the other, throat thick all of the sudden and for a moment Bilbo had to blink away tears that came unbidden to his eyes. He looked away, eyes fleetingly and unseeingly roaming over the remains of the battle before them. "Thank you," was all he managed to get out, the words sounding horse and heavy even to him. But Bard seemed to appreciate them all the same if the small upturn in his mouth was anything to go by.

* * *

Bilbo wasn't sure how much longer he stood with Bard after that, only that it couldn't have been too long (or at least it had not felt it). Perhaps Balin and the others had been right about forcing him away from his three dwarves, for the longer he was away from them, the less his thoughts turned to them until for a split moment he could pretend none of this had happened and in that one moment there was peace. Bilbo felt a little guilty for the thoughts, but couldn't help them. And he felt better for talking with Bard—lighter in a way, and he was glad he had decided to follow the man earlier.

Still though, his worry with the three dwarves returned, so much until he was finally compelled to go back (it had already been hours since Balin had drug him away from them—nearly an entire day in fact). He made his way through the camps, trying to retrace his and Bard's steps as best he could, and even with that he got turned around a time or two. But finally he was among familiar sights, and he felt comforted by it.

It wasn't until he noticed the increasingly hurried speech of the dwarves around them, of the ever increasing tone of,—fear?, worry?—it was hard to tell, but all the same Bilbo sensed an urgency in it that made his pulse quicken. And as he crept closer to the familiar tents, the more the commotion rose. Finally, he caught something familiar being spoken by someone near him, and though he was unable to make out the rush of Khuzdul that followed, what he had been able to decipher sent his blood draining from his face, his heart seeming to stutter to a stop.

Thorin.

After a moment where everything seemed to stand still, before all at once seeming to blend and sway and bleed, Bilbo started to run, as fast as he could manage through the ever growing crowd of dwarves. He pushed and darted and squeezed as best he could, all of it seeming to take far longer than it should all the while thinking, praying, _'Please no. Please, please no.'_ until he caught sight of some of the company. He almost called out to them, until he made out the ashen, grim expressions on their faces, their looks stealing all the oxygen from his lungs. He stepped forward slowly, having suddenly lost the energy to run further, to barely keep himself upright as his heart hammered away brutally in his chest. In was Bofur again who saw him first, so many things swimming across his face as he caught sight of the hobbit that Bilbo couldn't even begin to decipher them.

He tentatively stepped forward, fear and worry clearly etched across his features even as he tried to look calm and comforting. He reached out (what Bilbo thought was meant to be a soothing) hand, but all it did was make his stomach drop further, as he called out his name carefully. The others turned to him then, all looking the same and just as dreadful as they passed looks between them that left Bilbo feeling cold.

"_No."_

* * *

**Hope the wait wasn't too long for that. Like I said earlier, with finals coming up, I'm not sure if I'll be able to crank out chapter 4 before that, but I will try my best! Hope everyone enjoyed.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I could've sworn I had already posted this (surprisingly I got this one done not too long after chapter 3), and when I was checking, realized I never actually posted the darn thing. So here's chapter 4 and hopefully chapter 5 won't be too far behind (but with finals coming up, I'm not too sure when I'll have time to write to this). Anyways, read and (hopefully) enjoy!**

* * *

Voices were raised, Khuzdul being thrown around so fast that Bilbo couldn't even discern any familiar sounds in the rush of things. Healers were running back and forth, passing along various supplies as they tried to keep up with Óin's harsh commands (at least that's what Bilbo thought they were). Bilbo watched all of them in a sort of detached fashion, unsure whether or not he should feel relieved (that Thorin wasn't dead), or simply terrified (that he wasn't far from being it by the look of things). In the end, he was stuck somewhere in between the two, feeling as though he had lost his equilibrium along the way.

When he had finally reached the dwarves after his talk with Bard, they had tried speaking with him, but for the life of him Bilbo had been unable to concentrate on any of the words they had said. Bofur had reached out to him, saying something, but the only thing Bilbo had caught was 'Thorin' and the fear in the other dwarf's voice. When he had made a move to enter the tent, Ori had tried to stand in his way, saying something along the lines of Bilbo didn't need to see this. It had been a weak attempt which Bilbo had easily shrugged off before slipping past the scribe, ducking Glóin when he too attempted to block him.

If he thought it had been mayhem outside the tent, it was nothing compared to the chaos happening within it. All the rushing, all the yelling—he had never seen the dwarfs look more frantic than they did at this moment. After the initial shock at seeing such activity wore off, he noticed Dwalin and Balin not to far in front of him. They both looked over at the sound of his entrance, before their gazes shot to the other, something crossing between them before Balin motioned him over. Bilbo, as quickly and best he could slipped between the rushing healers, managing to keep quite out of all their ways until he stood beside the other dwarfs. He was caught between needing to see Thorin, having some sort of visual cue of how the dwarf was faring (even though he could guess fairly well how he was based on everyone around him), and being too scared to look at him at all. Finally, between the rushing bodies he caught a glimpse of the dwarf, the air rushing out of his lungs as he did.

Thorin's skin was pale, far paler than even Bilbo himself and what wasn't nearly stark white was flushed so heavily Bilbo couldn't imagine the kind of fever that must be burning him up at the moment. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, the sheets already damp with the excess moisture. And then one of the healers shifted and Bilbo caught sight of the bandages wrapped around his torso, nearly stained black with what Bilbo couldn't fathom but the sight of which made him sick and weak at the knees."What happened?" he finally managed to croak out, after staring wide-eyed at the scene for some time.

There was a moment and another look passed between the brothers before Balin turned to him. "Thorin's fever spiked not too long after the meeting ended," and Bilbo's stomach dropped at this bit of information—oh why ever did he have to talk to Bard right then and there? "One of the healers came in to check on him when he noticed Thorin was having difficulty breathing. He called Óin, and then…" here Balin trailed off, looking to his king once more. "Then, we started to loose him," he finished quietly.

Bilbo blanched at the words, feeling as if all the blood drained out of him so quickly that it left the world grey and spinning. After swallowing for a couple of moments (not missing the concerned look from Dwalin as he did so) he managed to find his voice again, but "Why?" was all he could manage, and even then his voice broke.

"Poison," Dwalin said simply, gruffly.

Bilbo clenched his teeth as he felt the hot rush of anger flare up in him. He knew it! If only these dwarfs weren't so stubborn and just admit when they needed help! He swallowed the words that suddenly wanted to pour out of him, the hot, hateful words that would do no good right now (said too late to make any difference and at such the wrong time he would probably only succeed in hurting Thorin further). As he watched them though, watched the healers run around, watched the subtle fear and panic-stricken look in Óin's face, the slow bitter acceptance that was dawning on him and the other healers, Bilbo finally snapped.

He turned abruptly on his heel, rushing out of the tent as fast as his feet could carry him without full tilt running just yet. He ignored Dwalin and Balin as they called after him, ignored the rest of the Company as he slipped by them (or at least attempted to). But suddenly Bofur gripped his wrist, worry and confusion etched across his pale features.

"Let go, Bofur," he said, more harshly than he intended, but his stomach was tight to the point where he felt nauseous, the fear making his heart beat so fast he thought it might burst from his chest. He needed to go and he needed to go now.

"Where are ya goin', Bilbo?"

"To get some help, for Eru's sake!" he yelled as he ripped his wrist from Bofur's grasp, ignoring the further twisting in his stomach at the surprised (and somewhat hurt) look that flashed across the other's face. "Save me from the stubbornness of dwarfs!" he said as he turned and left, more to himself than to anyone in particular. He nearly turned around and snapped when he heard footsteps trailing behind him, but refrained—they could follow him all he liked as long as they didn't try to stop him.

He wove his way between dwarfs and tents, as fast as he could, surroundings blurring and blending until he was ducking between men, trying his best not to get trampled on. He ignored the curious looks as he hurried by, doing his best to avoid anyone he might recognize and who therefore might try and stop him and slow him down. As he began reaching the end of the men's camp and still he didn't slow down, the dwarfs behind him finally spoke up.

"Bilbo, where do you think your going?" he heard Nori hiss behind him, and he thought he might've made a move to grab him, but Bilbo sped up, hoping over a small log as he did so.

"For the last time, I am getting help," he said through gritted teeth.

Bilbo prayed that the dwarfs kept silent as he made his way through the elf camp, neck craning this way and that in effort to spot his target. Slowly he could hear whispers around him, saw elves trailing them with their eyes, curiosity and disdain clear in their features. He felt the dwarfs around him press closer, and briefly he wondered if they did this on purpose or whether it was some unconscious act. Finally, after what felt like hours, he spotted a large white tent with two elven guards posted on either side of the entryway.

Bilbo picked up his speed until he was standing before them, trying his best to catch his breath before he spoke to them. He watched as they tensed and shifted, hands going to hover over the swords kept securely at their sides. _"I bid you, please,"_ he said once he could breath somewhat evenly, _"to ask King Thranduil if I may hold council with him,"_ he rushed out, ignoring their startled expressions as the elvish words left him. _"Please,"_ he implored when they simply stood there.

They looked to one another before the one on the left faced him, bending forward to better see the hobbit. _"And what need to you have to speak with our king?" _he asked smoothly, the barest hint of a sneer on his face as his eyes flickered to whatever group of dwarfs had followed behind him.

He felt the group behind him tense at the look and the tone in the other's voice even though they could not understand the words. Bilbo felt something snap in him as he glared as the guard. _"The business is mine and your king's alone, if he chooses to see me. I tell you only that it is of great importance and to please tell him that Bilbo Baggins seeks his council and his help,"_ he said, trying his best to reign in his anger, though he could not help the slight rise in volume in his voice.

The guards stiffened at his tone, looks shifting into something colder. The one on the right began to open his mouth, in what was sure to be a refusal when the tent behind them opened. The guard snapped his mouth closed as Thranduil stepped out, head bowing as the elven king came to stand between the two guards.

"_What is going on out here?"_ he asked, cool eyes looking to each of the guards before his eyes flickered to the group of dwarfs, lip curling in the barest amounts as he caught sight of them. "And what misfortune has befallen me that I find four dwarfs in my camp, outside my tent?" he sneered.

Again the Company tensed, a growl escaping one of them. _"It is not them who come to see you, King Thranduil, but myself,"_ he said, stepping over the barest amounts to block some of the dwarfs from the elf's sight.

"Bilbo," he heard someone call quietly behind him (he thinks it might've been Bofur), his voice a mix of apprehension and concern as well as something else Bilbo could not place, but he ignored it as the elven king's eyes came to rest on him.

A look of surprise flicked across his face as he took in the hobbit. _"Master Baggins, what need drives you here? Surely there have been enough talks for one day?"_ he asked, head slightly cocking to the side as he studied the small creature.

Bilbo squashed down the urge to say that it hadn't been so much talking today as it had been petulant insults being flung this way and that, deciding it would hardly help his cause in this moment. He swallowed, eyes looking imploringly at the elven king before he dipped down into the deepest bow he could manage, ignoring the cries and hisses that broke out behind him at the action. _"I beg you, King Thranduil, to help Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrór, son of Thráin, King Under the Mountain. Orc poison runs rampant in his veins that is beyond the skill of dwarvish healers. Your kind has knowledge of what ails him and how to treat him,"_ he said, trying his best not to rush over the words as his fear bade him do, instead he keeping his voice as even and paced as he could manage, pushing all his need as he could into words. _"I beg you to help him, for without your assistance I fear we will lose him,"_ he finished, bowing deeper at the end, hoping they didn't catch the break in his voice as he finished.

There was a heavy silence around him then, oppressive and thick in a strange way. He could feel countless eyes boring into him, and he did his best not to quake under so many intense looks. Whispers started to spread as Thranduil kept silent, Bilbo unable to catch any of what was being passed around as he remained bowed. He heard his name behind him again, soft with something strange mixing in the tone (Ori, his mind supplied) and a tug from his right with a grunting noise that could only have been Bifur.

"_And what do you offer me, Master Baggins, in exchange for my help?"_ came the elven king's response after some time.

Bilbo looked up at the king, straightening the barest amounts so that he could see the other's face and the expression on it. He could discern nothing from the cool features, nothing in the bland expression that told him where the king currently lay. A noise of desperation escaped him then, face falling as he looked back down. _"I have nothing to offer fit for kings, especially one such as yourself. But all I possess is yours if you wish it, though I don't know what that means to you," _he offered, hoping that it would be enough, but stomach sinking because he knew how low of an offer it was. While he was well off by hobbit standards, what he had was less than nothing compared to the riches the elven king was in possession of (from what little Bilbo spied while in Mirkwood, he knew that much), and whatever he had gained from this adventure he had already promised to Bard and his people. Perhaps if he was asking on behalf of men, it would be one thing, but he was asking for for help for a dwarf. And not any dwarf, but Thorin who Thranduil had already imprisoned once and for whom he had been ready to go to war against. It was a bleak proposal, depending far too much on the goodness in Thranduil or whatever pity he might bestow Bilbo, and as the silence stretched on, so did the sinking in his stomach.

"_It means something," _he heard Thranduil murmur at long last, Bilbo's head whipping up at the words, hope and disbelief swimming in his face though he tried to keep his expression at least somewhat neutral. _"You truly offer me everything?" _he asked again, something strange in his voice.

Bilbo didn't even hesitate. _"Yes."_

Something odd swam across the elf's face then, a look Bilbo had no chance of deciphering even though he tried his best. There was another moment of silence as Thranduil regarded him, that strange expression on his features before he schooled his face, nodding a moment later. _"Take me to him then."_

The elves around tensed, one of the guards looking as if wanted to protest. Bilbo's eyes grew wide at the response, nearly sputtering. _"Surely there is someone else?"_

Thranduil raised his brow at this. _"Are my skills not enough? I am no master healer like Lord Elrond, but my skills are hardly something to scoff at."_

If possible, Bilbo's eyes grew wider, a flush of embarrassment spreading across his face all the way to his ears. _"I did not mean—!" _it was then he caught the look of amusement in the other's eyes, and whatever else he meant to say left him in a rush of air.

"Well, then lead the way Master Baggins," he said when the hobbit remained mute and unmoving, the elf's lips twitching the barest amounts.

Bilbo jumped at the voice and the sudden switch into Westron. He flushed again (ignoring the confused muttering from the dwarfs behind him) as he quickly turned around, following the elf's words. He went a couple of feet before turning his head around and looking at the king. "Thank you," he said sincerely. The other did nothing but look at him, that strange expression once again flashing across his face before he bowed his head in acknowledgement. Bilbo smiled the barest amounts before facing forward again, traveling as fast as he could back to the dwarf camp, trusting the other to keep up (though it was hardly a hard task).

* * *

The trip back to the dwarf camp took significantly less time than it had been to get to the elf one (at least to Bilbo it felt like it did). Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief as he caught sight of Thorin's tent in the distance (and the loud group that still crowded around it). It seemed that Thorin was still alive then—if he had passed, Bilbo was sure to mood would be much more sombre (and therefore quiet). He pushed his way through the crowd, only stopping when a wide-eyed Dori blocked his path. "Bilbo, what?"

Bilbo opened his mouth to reply and assure and explain (quickly) everything to the rest of the Company, when he heard a harsh, dwarven curse shouted out above the noise. Bilbo's mouth clamped shut, jaw clenching in annoyance as he made out the voice. He turned to the tent, watching with narrowed eyes as as red-faced Dáin stepped out (in the back of his mind registering Dwalin and Balin following him out—as well as a number of guards).

Dáin's eyes narrowed as they settled on the hobbit before flickering back to the figure behind him. When he realized who stood behind Bilbo, his face turned into a snarl, a low growl slipping through his lips. "And why is a tree shagger here in our camp?"

Sniggers (and some cheers) went out at the question and the insult contained within, and Bilbo could just make out the soft rush of annoyed breath that left the elven king in response. "_King Thranduil_ is here to offer his help and knowledge in healing, Lord Ironfoot," Bilbo replied as evenly as he could manage.

The dwarf's eyes shot back to him, disbelief and anger clear in his face. "Help?" he repeated, voice pitched high in mocking disbelief. "More like poison my cousin! If you think you or that tree shagger is getting anywhere near Thorin, you are surely mistaken _hafling_," he hissed, leaning in closer to Bilbo.

Bilbo bristled at the insult and the insinuation contained in the words—of all things! Undeterred and unflinching even in front of this raging dwarf, Bilbo stepped forward, glaring harshly at the other. "If I wanted Thorin dead, I would've completed the task long ago, Dáin Ironfoot, and certainly not in such a public way. And it is poison that is circling in Thorin now and killing him, a poison far beyond your kind's expertise, but not so for Thranduil and his kin. Now you will _step aside_, Master Dwarf, if you want any chance of Thorin surviving," Bilbo shot back, voice harsh and body shaking with barely contained rage.

He watched as Dáin's face contorted and twisted in rage, veins popping out on his forehead and from what little of his neck that was not concealed by beard or hair. He sputtered for a moment before his lip curled and he was leaning forward in the hobbit's face once more. "I'll have your neck you insignificant, impudent halfling—"

"A halfling's whose armour has seen more wear than yours," Bilbo quipped back before Dáin could finish his insult. He watched as the dwarf's face bled of colour and then immediately flushed with rage as the insult hit home. Bilbo had heard from some of the Company that Dáin had not actually joined in the fighting—apparently by the time he made it through his lines the battle was already done. It was quite the sore spot for him (as it would for any dwarf, Bilbo was lead to understand), and Bilbo couldn't help the swell of satisfaction at the other's response to it's mention.

Dáin struggled for a moment before a single, strangled, enraged sound left his throat. He made as if to grab his weapon when suddenly the Company moved. In a flash at least four dwarfs were standing in between Bilbo and Dáin (Bifur pushing Bilbo even further behind him), with Dwalin and Dori on either side of the dwarf, holding him back and his weapons well out of reach of the hobbit.

"Not another move Dáin or it'll be your neck that'll be had," Dwalin growled, pushing the other back.

"My neck?" Dáin yelled, looking wildly between the Company. "He is the traitor that threatens your king!" and Bilbo was a little heartened to hear the outraged cries from the Company at those words.

Balin stepped forward then and Bilbo nearly gulped at the look on the other's face (so unlike anything he had ever seen from the elderly dwarf before). "We have already told you Dáin, Thorin recalled Bilbo's banishment and all that was said that day before he fell unconscious—it was the gold sickness and the gold sickness alone that spoke that day. If Bilbo says King Thranduil is here to help Thorin than that is what he is here to do and you will step aside, Dáin."

Dáin growled opening his mouth (mostly likely to disparage Bilbo again, the hobbit thought) when Balin cut him off, speaking a single sentence that had Dáin's mouth clamping shut in an instant. Bilbo had no idea what the older dwarf said, but whatever it was set off a firestorm of whispers and mutters around them, all of which Bilbo could not understand the meaning of. Briefly, Bilbo glanced behind him, wondering what the elven king was thinking about all of this. The other just stood there, calm and practically serene (or rather bored) but for the single eyebrow raised as he cooly surveyed the proceedings. Bilbo nearly snorted at the expression, but refrained as he turned forward again watching as Dáin finally withdrew his hand from his side.

The action relaxed the Company, some of the tension immediately leaving their bodies as the dwarf stepped aside, his jaw clenched together so fiercely Bilbo was unsure how his teeth weren't cracking from the pressure. Dwalin stepped in front of him, blocking him from Bilbo as much as he could as the rest of the Company moved out of the hobbit's way and he and Thranduil finally made their way into the tent. Bilbo nodded his head briefly to all of them, unsure exactly what he meant by it but for some reason feeling compelled to do so. He guessed it was the right thing to do as the Company relaxed further, before Bilbo fully entered the tent.

Óin looked up as the two entered, body tensing as he registered the elf. He looked to Bilbo, reading the utter conviction wrought throughout the creature. After a brief moment he nodded, saying something in Khuzdul to the rest of the healers before looking back to Bilbo. "What can we do to help?" he asked, glancing briefly at Thranduil.

"Step back," the elf smoothly replied before walking over to Thorin and beginning to inspect the barely breathing dwarf.

* * *

The next few hours were long and exhausting as they struggled to stabilize Thorin. After Bilbo did his best to soothe the tension in the healers at Thranduil's remark (not being so successful as a few walked out), he mainly acted as a translator between the two, doing his best to keep up with the rapid-fire elven questions and instructions.

It was a slow, painful process that left Bilbo reeling with a massive headache at one point (but he supposed he had not been the only one as Óin finally lost his patience with the other healer's and their refusal to follow the elven king's instructions, barking at them to leave and physically shoving a few of them towards the exit when they remained rooted to their spot). Thankfully, Bilbo had only needed to repeat a few things to the hearing-impaired dwarf, who other than those few times managed to successfully understand the frantic hobbit.

Bilbo wasn't sure what time they finished, or how long it had been only that it was early into the morning of the next day when Thranduil finally stepped back, declaring that Thorin was as stable as he was going to get at this point. Bilbo nearly wept with the news, running over to look upon the dwarf. Something within him loosened and relaxed as he took in the face that was nearly absent of the flush that had been present for the past couple of days, noting how much easier and deeply the dwarf's chest fell and rose than it had been earlier. A sound escaped Bilbo then, something in between a sigh and a sob as he reached out and grasped the other's hand, inside jumping for joy at the much cooler skin that met his fingers this time. For a moment he had the urge to brush away the wayward strands that had fallen into Thorin's face but refrained from doing so, instead turning to the elf as he released Thorin's hand.

"Thank you," he said. The other just nodded in response, discreetly wiping away some of the moisture that had formed across his brow in the hours he had worked over the other.

"I'll tell the other lads of his condition," Óin said as he made his way to the exit, pausing once (turning around and giving the elf a firm nod of his head) before turning around again and exiting. Bilbo couldn't help but smile at the relieved shouts and cheers he heard coming from outside a moment later, chuckling a little at all the noise.

He looked back at Thorin, studying the other's face, noting how much better he looked as he quietly thanked the elf again.

He heard no reply for a long moment before the other stepped forward, eyes intent on the other. "Show me where the others are," he said simply, causing Bilbo's head to whip up.

"Others?" he echoed, confusion clear in his voice and expression.

"The Durin boys; his nephews," he clarified, eyebrow raised. "I hear they too were injured with the same poison."

Bilbo looked at him for a long moment, starred rather, nearly slack-jawed. "You would help them too?" he asked softly, disbelievingly. The other merely nodded in response. Bilbo was quiet for another long moment before he spoke again, voice a little stronger this time around. "You know I have nothing more to offer than what I said earlier, and nothing I am certain the dwarfs will be willing to give."

"You honestly do not know?" Thranduil asked, eyes staring at the hobbit intently as he stepped forward.

Bilbo's brow furrowed in confusion. "Know what?" he asked.

But Thranduil shook his head slightly, eyes resting on the unconscious Thorin. "It is something best said later," he said before looking at Bilbo once more. "Now, the Durin boys?"

Bilbo wasn't sure whether to feel frustrated, relieved, or amused at the other's behavior—elves could always be counted on to skirt around answers (and he thought Gandalf was bad). He shook his head, unable to stop the slight twitch of his lips as he turned on his heel and led the way to Fíli and Kíli.

* * *

**Well, there was chapter four and I hope everyone enjoyed. Also, realized the other day I had yet to thank everyone for their lovely comments on all my stories, so thank you everyone, they really mean the world! I hope you guys leave even more!**

**Again, I'll do my best to have chapter 5 up here pretty quick and thanks again everyone for reading!**


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